


tired

by burusu



Category: Rockman Megamix | Mega Man Megamix, Rockman | Mega Man Classic
Genre: Blood, Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 06:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11434794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burusu/pseuds/burusu
Summary: Blues has had a hard life, and he copes with it in the only way his mind lets him. Written as a vent.





	tired

Blues took in a sharp breath as the pain kicked in. It was minor compared to the pain he felt during an attack, but it still made him flinch every so often. He watched as oil began to bead up along the cuts, sighing as he felt himself relax. It happened every time he did this, without fail. If he felt any undesired emotion, all he had to do was draw a blade across his arm and watch the oil flow.

He’d been doing it for years now. It started after he betrayed Wily, though it had been long enough that the man had forgotten about him. At first it had been out of anger, producing deep gashes across his thighs, almost killing him from the amount of fluids he lost. He vowed never to go that deep again, although he would fail multiple times in the future.

The next time he picked up a blade was after the incident with Copy Rock. Although he’d outwardly shown no emotion as he revealed the truth to his brother’s replica, even when he witnessed the boy’s sacrifice, he found himself snatching a shuriken from Shadow Man as he left, later using it to make a large number of incisions on his arms and legs.

That was three years ago.

The prototype was taken out of his reflections when he noticed the oil stains on his shirt and pants. The fluid was flowing down his arm, eventually reaching his elbow and tainting the rolled-up fabric there before dripping onto a growing splotch on his pants. He swore to himself, wrapping the offending cuts in gauze and bandages before taking off his shirt and vest. The shirt was probably salvageable, he realized with a sigh of relief, and the pants were dark enough that no one would notice.

Standing up, Blues gathered the garments into his good arm, taking note of the oil seeping through the bandages on the other, and put them in a pile by his hammock. Then he picked up the utility knife he’d used and pocketed it. He figured the safest place to keep it was on him, since people would assume he used it for repairs rather than self-injury.

Finally acknowledging the still-bleeding cuts on his arm, he undid the bandages with a sigh and got to work stopping the oil flow.


End file.
